


More Precious than Pearls

by macabre_monkey



Series: More Precious Than Pearls [3]
Category: The Last Herald Mage, Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Character Death Fix, First Love, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Self Acceptance, True Love, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-14
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabre_monkey/pseuds/macabre_monkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vanyel has a lot to learn, about love, trust, and himself. Good thing he has Tylendel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is marked as finished, but I might add more at some point. Honestly when I started this I had no idea where it was going and still sort of don't. I promise to try to make future chapters self contained, at least.
> 
> I don't like using the Explicit rating for long, plotty fics that have sex scenes in them, but I will always warn when a chapter is NSFW.

“Move over you selfish little peacock, I’m about to freeze to death.”

Vanyel obediently scooted across the bed and Tylendel snuggled closer; his robe fell open just a bit, exposing his throat and part of his chest and a tantalizing glimpse of nipple. The hot, tight feeling in his chest suddenly migrated south, and he looked away, resting his head on Lendel’s shoulder and burying his face in Lendel's robe to hide his embarrassment. He most certainly didn’t feel up to taking things that far just yet. Not that he didn’t want to; not that he hadn’t had plenty of fantasies involving both of them naked and moaning, but everything still felt so…unreal. Fragile. And it was very unnerving, having his secret out in the open like that. No matter that Tylendel was like him, and wanted him, too; Vanyel had lived with the fear of his desire for too long, and while he felt the first glimmering of hope that things weren’t as bad as he’d thought, and indeed, could even start to get better, actually acting on his desires was a very big leap from admitting they existed in the first place.

Tylendel seemed to understand that. He wasn’t doing anything other than trailing his hand down Vanyel’s arm, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Van closed his eyes and tried to stop thinking and just enjoy the sensation of Tylendel's fingers stroking his arm, occasionally taking his hand in his own and squeezing gently before going back to his shoulder to begin again. It was nice to just…be, to exist in the moment without pretense. Inch by inch, he began to relax, until he finally fell asleep without nightmares, feeling warm and safe, for the first time in months.

***

 

It was far too soon after she had fallen, almost literally, into bed, for Savil to be expected to be awake again. These late night Council sessions were hell, even for a young person. Damn Karse. She did not like the political—or rather, religious—changes that were taking place in the kingdom that shared their Southern Border. But, there was a chance that with enough diplomacy, things could at least remain neutral, if not as friendly as they had been in the past. She prayed that it didn’t come to all out war. These last few decades had been blessedly peaceful, but it had never felt more fragile.

She nodded a silent good morning at her protégés and nephew. Vanyel looked like he’d made a night of it—eyes bloodshot, with dark circles underneath, complexion wan, and he merely picked at breakfast and sipped his tea sparingly. Mardic and Donni were completely absorbed with each other, as usual, and Tylendel was oddly subdued.

 _:Anything bothering you,_ kechara?: she Mindspoke Tylendel privately.

 _:Nothing particular. Why do you ask?:_

 _:You’re just awfully quiet this morning.:_

He gave a slight, lopsided shrug and said, _:I didn’t sleep much. One of those nights.:_

Savil let it go at that. She supposed she should interrogate Vanyel about what he’d been up to last night to leave him in such a state—not that she couldn’t guess—but she didn’t feel up to it, and anyway she’d already told him as long as he didn’t make trouble for her, she didn’t care what he did. He was old enough to make his own decisions and deal with the consequences. But the way things were going, it wouldn’t surprise her in the least if sometime today some official or noble or other came to her to complain about something her brat of a nephew had done. And she’d have to Do Something About It. Like she didn’t have bloody enough to worry about, with three young mages to train and the Heraldic Circle to deal with.

 _:Don’t borrow trouble, dear,:_ Kellan Mindspoke.

Savil didn’t have anything to say to that, so she finished her eggs and toast in silence, using the time to do some Tayledras mental exercises designed to keep the mind sharp, and waited for Mardic and Donni to finish up so they could get to the Workroom.

***

 

Lunch was already laid out when Savil and the lifebonded got back from their session. She didn’t know why, but they were having the damndest time trying to work together. It was frustrating for all of them, because the lifebond seemed like it should be an advantage in this situation, but try as they might, they could not mesh their energy together.

At least Tylendel was coming along well. He was shaping up to be a fine mage, and Savil hadn’t told him this yet, but she had no doubt he would be her equal when he was fully trained, and would perhaps even surpass her. Time would tell.

Tylendel was lounging on the sofa, book in one hand, half eaten meat roll in the other. Savil thought he might be hitting his final growth spurt; he’d already had to requisition larger boots from Supply, and the rest of him would undoubtedly catch up sooner or later. Although _must_ he eat on the sofa? Dining room tables were invented for a reason.

Savil bit back a tired groan as she settled into a chair, with only a small bowl of chilled summer vegetable soup. As tired as she was, she shouldn’t eat a full meal, because that would only make her sleepy, and working with magic when distracted was begging for trouble.

“Ready?” she asked Tylendel when she was finished.

He jumped in surprise. “Oh, yes. When you are.” He grinned sheepishly. “I was lost in thought for a moment.”

“Clearly,” she replied, dryly. She frowned. “Tylendel, if there’s really something bothering you, you can tell me.”

“Nothing’s bothering me, alright?” his tone was starting to get exasperated. “I told you, I just couldn’t sleep with that storm going on last night, that’s all.” But Savil sensed he was being a bit disingenuous. It could just be her own sleep deprivation making her paranoid, but she had a feeling _something_ was going on. But she didn’t have time to pry it out of him. If he wanted to stew, so be it.

So they went to the workroom, and if something was the matter, at least it wasn’t affecting his performance. He was quite a dedicated student. So Savil decided to let it drop, and take a long, hot soak after their session and go to bed early tonight. And if Lancir or Elspeth wanted to call another emergency Council Session, followed by _another_ convening of the Heraldic Circle that would last until just a few bare candlemarks before dawn, well, she hoped they had fun without her.

The evening meal, like it’s predecessors, proved entirely uneventful. But Tylendel seemed even more out of sorts than he had all day. He kept glancing at the time candle, and if that weren’t enough, he was barely picking at dinner. She wracked her brain trying to remember if Tylendel had ever expressed a distaste for chicken with gravy and creamed spinach. It seemed unlikely. Who didn’t like gravy?

 _:Alright lad. Out with it. What’s on your mind? And don’t tell me you’re just tired. If it’s affecting your appetite, then it’s cause for concern:_

Tylendel looked abashed as he replied, _:That obvious, huh?:_ He sighed. _:It’s really…nothing all that serious. I mean, I’m not in trouble or anything, but, I may have done something foolish.:_

 _:Well, that will be a first,:_ Savil said, her mindvoice dripping with sarcasm.

 _:It’s just that, I_ may _be falling in love with someone.:_

Savil groaned and covered her eyes.

 _:I know,:_ Tylendel replied, his mindvoice colored with wry self awareness. _:And he’s—um. Probably not someone I should get involved with. In fact, I_ know _he’s someone I shouldn’t get involved with. He’s trouble.:_

 _:All boys your age are trouble,:_ Savil observed.

 _:Ha.:_

 _:Let me guess the next part: You’ve completely ignored your better judgment and are, in fact, already involved with him.:_

 _:Um. Kind of?:_

 _:Kind of? Kind of what?:_

 _:Well, we’ve…talked. I mean, really, we’ve only talked. I haven’t even kissed him yet. He’s still coming to terms with the fact that he’s attracted to males. And he doesn’t want anyone to know. If he knew I told you even this much, he’d be really, really upset.:_

 _:Upset enough to break things off with you?:_

 _:I don’t know. Maybe. He—he’s been really hurt in the past, you know? If he thinks I’ve betrayed his trust by telling anyone about him he’d never forgive me.:_

 _:But you’re not going to tell me who he is, so what’s the problem? Wait,:_ she said, an idea occurring to her. _:We’re not talking about a boy from_ Court, _are we?:_ Boys were trouble enough, but boys from Court, the noble born and the ones from merchant families powerful enough they may as _well_ be noble, were a much higher level of disaster. Besides the fact that they were one and all self centered, self serving, entitled monsters, there was always the possibility of political fallout, if the affair were discovered.

 _:Um.:_

 _:_ Tylendel. _:_

 _:Um. Yes?:_ his mindvoice was practically a squeak.

 _:I thought you learned your lesson about messing around with the nobility after Nevis.:_

 _:Gods, Savil, I can’t help who I fall in love with. It’s not like I planned it. It just happened.:_

 _:Well, at this point telling you to be careful would be rather pointless. And redundant.:_

 _:Thank you for your unwavering support,:_ he replied sardonically.

 _:But all the same, be careful. I think I’ve got a few dry spots on my tunic you missed the last time you got your heart broken, if it turns out you need a shoulder to cry on.:_

 _:I’ll keep that in mind,:_ his mindvoice now amused and at ease.

 _:Are you planning to see him tonight?:_

 _:Maybe, if he can get away from Court early enough.:_

 _:Well. Have fun. My old bones can’t take sitting up anymore; I’m turning in.:_

“Goodnight,” Tylendel replied aloud.

“’Night, kechara.”

***

Tylendel was relieved that Savil was going to bed early, and that she respected him enough not to pry for details.

“Trouble” indeed. Her reaction when she’d found out his latest paramour was another noble was bad enough; if she’d found out he was her _nephew_ , well. Trouble. And truth be told, he didn’t blame her. He still had no idea what had possessed him to go into Vanyel’s room last night. He couldn’t help but Sense Vanyel’s distress, but he knew it was only a nightmare. Vanyel wasn’t a child who needed to be comforted after having a bad dream. But sometimes Tylendel just followed his intuition, and it had led him into a crazy situation he never even imagined was possible. Vanyel had been on the offensive immediately; Tylendel should have known that Vanyel would hate for anyone to ever see him in a moment of weakness, especially if he was crying. But his intuition told him to ignore Vanyel’s blustering, that something was truly _wrong_ , so he just kept offering his help.

Vanyel kept trying to halfheartedly push him away, but Tylendel sensed that he didn’t really mean it. That he was actually hoping that Tylendel would ignore his protests, would put his arms around him…

That had truly been a shock. Hearing Vanyel confess he was shay’a’chern, _and_ that he was attracted to him, had been the very last thing he’d ever expected to hear Vanyel say. Although looking back now, it made perfect sense. He’d always gone out of his way to either ignore Tylendel or shower him with disdain; it was like he was making sure Tylendel _knew_ he was beneath Vanyel’s notice. Whereas with Mardic and Donni, it was more like he didn’t even register their presence. And he’d caught Vanyel staring at him sometimes, with a peculiar blank look on his face. At the time he’d thought it was disgust.

And now they were lovers, or almost lovers. Vanyel had been perfectly willing to let Tylendel comfort him, but Tylendel had the sense that to press for anything more would only scare him. And gods, the way Van had shivered and clung to him, had let himself be so _vulnerable_ , possibly for the first time since he was a small child, well, starting anything sexual at that moment would have felt too much like taking advantage.

So he’d just held Van while he cried, and tried to project his Empathy to comfort him. But for all that Vanyel had started opening up to him last night, he’d expected a battle this morning. Van asked him to stay the night, and he did, feeling bitterly certain that come morning, Vanyel would backtrack and deny and pretend nothing had happened. But he hadn’t. They’d woken up together, and Van had actually _smiled_ and said, “You stayed,” like he was genuinely surprised that Tylendel would actually do what he’d said he would.

The smile was what did it—made his heart seize up, and then start pounding as if he’d run around Companion’s Field. Of course he found Vanyel attractive. After the previous night, he was certainly feeling sympathetic toward him, and he felt that given enough time, he could even start to _like_ Vanyel. But that smile had been so sweet and surprised and _happy_ , and it occurred to Tylendel that in all the months Van had been living with them, he’d never seen him smile, not like that, even once.

Of course nothing was ever easy, and Vanyel begged Tylendel not to tell Savil.

“What do you mean, we can’t tell her? You don’t actually think we can keep it a secret? We all _live_ together, Vanyel, she’s going to figure it out eventually.” His tone had been blithe, but Vanyel had started panicking. He believed that if Savil found out she would tell Lord Withen. Withen would demand he come home, and have him beaten and locked up, or—

“She won’t tell, Van. She wouldn’t anyway, but I’ll ask her not to. It will be fine, honest.” But Vanyel wouldn’t believe it. He knew he was here on sufferance, and that Savil was just waiting for an excuse to send him back home. She hated him; he was an inconvenience and she wanted him gone. Which, to be fair, there was certainly no love lost between them. But Savil knew what would happen to Vanyel if he were found out, and as much as she didn’t like him, she wasn’t _malicious_. She would keep their secret.

But Vanyel made him swear not to tell. Tylendel didn’t like it; he didn’t like keeping secrets from Savil, and he wasn’t even certain he _could_. Well, obviously he couldn’t, but at least she was satisfied with what little he’d told her. Van wouldn’t like it, but what choice did he have? Keeping a secret was one thing; lying was completely out of the question.

And anyway, just because he’d been fine this morning didn’t mean that he wouldn’t still change his mind. He’d had all day to think about it, after all. He might come home from Court and pretend nothing had ever happened. Tylendel settled into his chair and continued to pick listlessly at his food. Savil was right. If his appetite was being affected, it was serious.

One smile. One moment of openness, of vulnerability, of seeing the _real_ Vanyel, was all it took. There was no “may” about it. He was _definitely_ in love.

***

Vanyel paused outside the door of the suite, wondering if Tylendel would still be up. Part of him hoped he would, part of him hoped he wouldn’t. He’d swung back and forth all day between ecstatic joy and stomach-knotting dread. He was a fool. He couldn’t trust anyone, least of all _Tylendel_ , his aunt’s favorite protégé. But, last night had been so—he didn’t want to say wonderful. It had been pretty miserable, actually, but Tylendel had been there. He’d seen Vanyel at his absolute worst, and in a fit of longing, Van had confessed his most shameful secret. And then he’d asked Tylendel to stay. He really hadn’t expected Tylendel to still be there in the morning; at most he thought he’d stay until Van was asleep, and then return to his room. But he’d woken up this morning with Tylendel’s arm across his chest, holding him close. And _that_ had been pretty wonderful. And Vanyel had felt his mouth stretch into a grin, and he couldn’t have stopped it if he’d wanted to. He’d felt a sudden, inexplicable burst of happiness seeing that Tylendel had stayed with him, even after he didn’t need to. And Tylendel had stared at him for a moment, like he was looking at a stranger, and then he’d smiled back, and brushed his hair out of his eyes, and kissed his forehead and said good morning.

But now his good sense was warring with his impulses. He knew better than to relax his guard, to trust _anyone_. But. But nothing. But Tylendel had never been anything other than pleasant to him, even though Vanyel had been absolutely vile. Come to that, there was no reason for Tylendel to have helped him last night, either. But he had. He was his aunt’s protégé, but he was also a Herald, or would be. Surely, surely, if there was anyone Vanyel could trust, it was Tylendel.

He turned the knob, still feeling uncertain. He was unprepared to see Tylendel sitting at the dining room table, staring forlornly at some sort of glop that he was pushing around on a plate. He didn’t know what he’d thought Tylendel would be doing, though. He didn’t attend Court; Van had thought that maybe he spent time with his friends. If he had friends. He remembered suddenly the way people talked about him. _Pervert_.

Tylendel didn’t seem to notice him. Vanyel was torn between walking quickly and quietly to his room, and letting Tylendel know he was here. Tylendel looked—sad. Van didn’t recall ever seeing him look sad or even vaguely upset before. And seeing _him_ upset made _Vanyel_ feel upset, for some bizarre reason.

He decided he couldn’t in good conscience leave Tylendel like this. He certainly deserved better, especially after the way he’d helped Van, and Van had been so rotten to him, too. So he cleared his throat, and Tylendel looked up, startled.

“Oh, Vanyel,” he glanced at the time candle. “I thought you’d be back a lot later than this.”

“I just put in a brief appearance at Court. I…didn’t really feel in the mood to socialize.”

“Oh.”

Awkward silence.

“Is…something wrong?” Vanyel ventured.

Tylendel smiled briefly. “Everyone’s been asking me that all day.” He sighed. “I guess, yes and no.” He got up and moved to the living room and flopped on the sofa. “Today has been really—confusing.”

Vanyel snorted, _tell me about it._ He sat down at the opposite end of the sofa, crossing his legs and waiting for Tylendel to continue.

“I guess what’s most confusing about it, is you,” Tylendel said.

“ _Me_?”

Now Tylendel snorted. “No, I’m confused as to why the sky is blue. Yes, you. Last night. What it all means.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Another awkward silence.

“So what do _you_ want it to mean, then?” Tylendel put forth. Because he needed to know, right now, how this was going to go. If Vanyel was even willing to _try_ , or if he wanted to go back to the way things were.

Vanyel was silent for a long time. Tylendel began to worry. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so blunt; no, he _definitely_ shouldn’t have been so blunt. He knew enough from last night to know that Van was the kind of person to block his feelings. He probably had no _idea_ what he wanted.

“Look, Van,” he said softly. “I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but. I feel like I could, maybe, be starting to care about you.”

Vanyel turned around to face him then, incredulous. Tylendel could only shrug, and smile his little half-grin, as if to say, _damned if I know why, either._ He looked away, and Tylendel could have sworn he saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face. He dared to reach out, and touched Vanyel’s hand.

“Hey,” he said. “I told you no pressure, alright? But I just need to know. If you even want to _try_ to be, well. If we can at least see if we get along,” he finished lamely. Again, he could almost swear Van was smiling. It wasn’t overt, but there was just a general lightening of his demeanor.

Vanyel turned his hand, palm up, and squeezed Tylendel’s. “We can try,” he said quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic sex scene in this chapter.

A few weeks later, Van was sitting on the sofa, his history text open on his lap. He was only half paying attention to it, because Tylendel was sitting on the other end of the sofa, engrossed in his assigned reading on weatherworking, or so it seemed.

This was usually how they spent their days, now. They were the only ones in the suite when lunch arrived, after Van was back from lessons. Tylendel didn’t have any lessons in the mornings at the moment; he worked with Savil in the afternoons. So they ate lunch together, and talked, or studied. It was nice. Vanyel hadn’t realized how _exhausting_ it was, keeping up his pretense of aloof indifference, until he finally had someone he could relax around. And more than that, he was discovering just how pleasant simple touches were.

His family was definitely _not_ physically demonstrative; well, except for Mother, but no one especially wanted her clinging to him. It had taken surprisingly little time for him to not only adjust to the fact that Tylendel would randomly reach out and stroke his hair, or his shoulder, or the back of his hand, but to discover that he very much enjoyed it. Lately it had occurred to him that the polite thing to do was reciprocate the gestures, and Tylendel’s pleased reaction the first time he’d casually run his fingers through Lendel’s curls while they were reading together, was enough to convince Vanyel to get over his embarrassment and do it more often. And now Tylendel was even _more_ touchy, and would sometimes rest his head on Vanyel’s shoulder, or pull Van into an embrace and cuddle him on the sofa.

Sometimes they even kissed, but never more than that. Vanyel never even had to say anything, Tylendel just _knew_. And even though Van was certain Tylendel wanted more, he never pressed the issue.

But lately, being near Tylendel was even more distracting than before. Van found himself thinking of Lendel constantly, and when they were actually alone together, he completely lost his ability to concentrate on anything except Tylendel. The way he scrunched up his forehead and bit his lower lip when he was concentrating, the way one lock of hair was forever falling into his face, the way his eyes went dark and brooding in candlelight, and clear and bright in the sun, the way his hands moved when he talked, adding emphasis to what he was saying—now Vanyel knew what the poets and Bards meant when they said being in love was intoxicating. Sometimes that’s exactly what he felt like, especially when Lendel smiled at him. And now he was trying, really trying, to study for his history class, which he was _still_ woefully behind in, but he couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Tylendel. For some reason he was enamored of the way Lendel turned the pages of his book, admiring his long, graceful fingers. His _fingers_ , of all things. Then Tylendel glanced up and caught him looking, and Vanyel turned away, blushing, while Tylendel smirked and closed his book. He reached across the sofa and took Van’s hand in his own, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. Van dared to look up and Lendel raised an eyebrow as his hand slowly encircled Vanyel’s wrist, the invitation clear.

His history book fell to the floor as he slid across the space between them, cupped Tylendel’s cheek and brought their lips together. It was bliss. For all that they had done this before, he still felt lightheaded for a moment, and gooseflesh chased up his arms. Then Tylendel opened his mouth a little and Vanyel, grown bold from their past experiences, inserted his tongue and holy _gods_ , there were no words for how good that was. He reveled in the hot, velvety feel of their tongues swirling together. His body felt taught, strung out, like it could barely contain his desire. Acting on instinct now, he moved his hand from Tylendel’s face, feeling a rough spot on his jaw where he’d missed shaving. He stroked down Tylendel’s neck, and followed his fingers with his mouth, tasting the salt of his skin. When he encountered Lendel’s shirt, he paused, suddenly unsure of himself again. And just as he gathered his courage and began lifting the fabric to get at the warm skin of his chest and belly, Mardic and Donni burst into the suite and headed strait to the sideboard for a late lunch. Van jumped back, blushing again. He groped for his book, surreptitiously wiping his mouth and avoiding looking at anyone. Tylendel gave him an inscrutable look, before getting up with a groan and a stretch to take Mardic and Donni’s place in the workroom for his weatherworking lesson with Savil.

“See you later tonight?” Tylendel asked, his voice husky with desire.

Van glanced up at him, and it was clear that Lendel was far from satisfied with the afternoon’s exploits. Van knew that if he said yes, then he and Tylendel would pick up right where they’d left off, and now he was right back where he was before, a frustrating mix of desire and uncertainty and fear.

He wanted to, _gods_ he wanted to, but he was still nervous about the whole thing. His blessedly few unavoidable encounters with girls had hardly left him prepared or knowledgeable about what two _boys_ did with each other in bed. Of course he’d heard some of the other boys at Court making rude jokes about “buggering”, but he didn’t know how much, if any, credit to give to such talk. And it wasn’t as if there was anyone to ask advice of, well, except for Tylendel himself, obviously, but what if he was just as in the dark as Van was?

Besides that, he had his head stuffed full of social conditioning and religious doctrine that said his desires were very definitely improper, to say the least. He had actually gone so far as to seek religious counseling on the matter, on one of his few forays into the city proper, and the priest he’d spoken too told him that his desire was unnatural and unclean, and that if he ever acted on it he was risking the wrath of the gods—bad luck, illness, and pain would plague him in this life, and divine punishment awaited in the next if he indulged in such “unspeakable” carnal acts.

But knowing all that didn’t stop his body from _wanting_. And there were so many moments when he felt so close to giving in…like right now. He remembered the way he’d felt with Lendel, before they were interrupted. Not just the physical pleasure; he had felt strangely relaxed, and happy, and, well, like everything was alright, even though it really wasn’t. He had really _felt_ that Tylendel cared very much about him, and wanted to please him and take care of him. He felt that he could do anything with Tylendel and it would be fine; he understood. And now that he’d experienced that, he almost thought he wanted it more than the physical pleasure.

“Yes,” Vanyel breathed, still flushed with embarrassment and lust, firmly resolved to take this to its conclusion.

 

***

It was getting pretty late. Time candles guttered near the midnight mark and Vanyel _still_ hadn’t come back from Court. Tylendel was sprawled across the sofa again, comfortable in a loose shirt and breeches, pretending to study and cursing himself for ten kinds of fool. Van was probably staying out late because Lendel had pushed him too far, too fast, and now he was even more nervous than before. What he’d said to Van that first night about Vanyel testing his self control hadn’t been an exaggeration. And now that he’d coaxed Vanyel out of his shell, at least part of the time, everything about him drove Lendel wild with desire. Van inspired all manner of obscene thoughts—the simplest things he did, he seemed to do in the most sensuous way possible. Vanyel couldn’t drink tea in the morning without Tylendel wanting to kiss his lips, glistening and red after taking a sip, or brush his hair out of his eyes without Tylendel wanting those fingers in _his_ hair, on his body.

But at the same time, he was still so vulnerable that Lendel just wanted to pet him and tell him that everything would be alright, and that he would never hurt him. It was still heartbreaking sometimes, watching him struggle with his insecurities and fears. Van still didn’t entirely trust him, Lendel was sure. All the people he was supposed to be able count on had hurt him and let him down. It was hard for him to let go of that sense of self preservation that had kept him from letting anyone get too close. And Lendel could feel the dread well up in Vanyel sometimes, of the inevitable end of _them_ , when Lendel would find someone better, or just decide he was tired of him. Those were the times he slipped back into his comfortable, cold mask. When he decided that maybe he should just cut his losses and end this now, because this was only going to end in him getting hurt again. To say nothing of the fact that Tylendel was also certain that Van was still struggling with self acceptance—from what he was able to glean from Savil, Lord Withen was very strict, very conservative, _very_ religious. And very nearly all the major religions practiced in Valdemar made it clear that same sex desire was an abomination.

Lendel knew to leave him alone when Vanyel started withdrawing again, and it was as much out of his _own_ sense of self preservation—Vanyel had a wickedly sharp tongue, and if he was hurting then it was a guarantee that he would lash out at the first target to present itself—as much as about what Vanyel needed. As much as he wanted to cuddle and reassure Van, he knew that nothing he said would be helpful. He would only accept love and comfort on his own terms, and Tylendel was afraid of frightening him off, that if he tried to push his views on the gods and how it was _alright_ to be shay’a’chern on Vanyel before he was really receptive to it, it would come across as Tylendel just looking for ways to convince Vanyel to have sex with him.

What he _could_ do however, was be patient, and understanding, and _not rush him for sex_ , dammit, and trust that loving Vanyel was enough to help him figure this out. And as soon as Vanyel came home, no matter how late it was, he was apologizing for this afternoon. It had been far too easy to let himself get carried away, and even after the kiss was over, and Vanyel was clearly uncomfortable about being caught (although Mardic and Donni—typically—hadn’t even noticed), Tylendel had still made it clear that he wanted more. And at that moment, knowing Vanyel, he would have agreed to do anything, if he was afraid that Tylendel was tired of waiting and might go looking for a new lover.

The time candle was just past midnight when Vanyel slipped in, quietly closing the front door of the suite. He saw Tylendel lounging on the sofa, and he smiled, or at least what passed for a smile, coming from Vanyel. He wasn’t overly demonstrative even with his facial expressions.

“Why can’t you just _sit_ on the sofa like a normal person,” he said, teasing. It was becoming an old joke between them. Lendel sat up, and Vanyel sat down, turning to face him. Lendel cleared his throat, feeling suddenly uncomfortable under Vanyel’s clear and expectant gaze.

“Um, Van—this afternoon—I wanted to tell you that I got a little…carried away, and, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I know you want to wait—“

Van looked incredulous. “To hell with waiting.” And he slid over and reached to pull Lendel down into a kiss, but Lendel put his hand between them, not really sure what was behind this apparent change of heart.

“I just want to make sure that this is what _you_ really want. That you aren’t doing this because you think I want you to. I don’t want you to feel any pressure to do anything you don’t feel ready for.”

Vanyel listened patiently, an eyebrow raised. Then he pressed their bodies even closer before successfully pulling Lendel’s face down for the kiss, and it was different from the afternoon, slow and sweet. Lendel felt his protests melt away, like they were sweets being dissolved in their mouths.

“Listen to me,” Vanyel said after they parted for breath. “I want this too. Before, I wasn’t sure of myself, and it seemed like—“ he groped for words, finally settling on “It’s just that now…” he gestured helplessly. “I don’t want to wait anymore.” He put his hand on Lendel’s chest, and Lendel covered it with his own. “After this afternoon, I—“ Van’s voice went husky, and he licked his lips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be with you. I really want this.”

The only thing Tylendel could do after that was lean in for another kiss, as he let his hands roam all over Vanyel’s body, all over the forbidden places he hadn’t dared to touch before. He gripped the back of Van’s neck, the soft strands of hair tickling his fingers, before moving down to his shoulders, and Tylendel marveled at the strength he felt there—not overt, but definitely there. His hands slid down Vanyel’s arms, his waist, his hips, before finally claiming his ass. Vanyel moaned encouragingly, pressing even closer and straddling his hips as he began exploring Lendel with his own hands.

As pleasant a development as this was, the sofa really wasn’t the place. Tylendel pulled away for long enough to gasp out, “Your room or mine? You have a bigger bed,” he added, thinking that Van would be more comfortable in familiar surroundings. Vanyel hummed agreement and they broke apart, getting up and walking into the room with their hands and arms brushing.

***

There were a few candles lit, but it was mostly dark, with just a hint of moonlight coming from the windows. The bed loomed, and Vanyel felt his confidence wavering again. But he’d made up his mind about this, had been thinking about it nonstop ever since this afternoon, when after Tylendel went off to his lesson with Savil, he’d gone back to his room to dress for Court and found himself so aroused he felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. Trying to ignore it hadn’t worked, so he’d given in to temptation—making sure the door was bolted and the curtains closed—and lay on the bed, lazily stroking his cock for the better part of a candlemark, pretending it was Lendel’s hands gripping him and exploring his body, kissing him everywhere, making him feel good.

After he reached climax he’d lain there catching his breath, only to realize after a moment that, damn, he was still hard. So he’d groaned at the unfairness of it all, and flopped over onto his belly and humped the mattress for a bit, before rolling back over and jerking himself frantically. And even after that, he _still_ hadn’t felt completely satisfied. But by then, he _really_ needed to start getting ready for Court, because he didn’t feel like dealing with the rumor mongers the next day, and being surrounded by the vapid spawn of the most powerful nobles and merchants in the Kingdom was better than staying in his room all by his sexually frustrated self.

Or so he’d thought. He’d been snappish and distracted the whole time he’d been there, and that was actually the reason he was late getting home—he’d said something truly hurtful to one of the girls who wasn’t a _complete_ horror, and felt bad enough about it that he wanted to make it up to her. So he’d danced with her three dances in a row, and fetched her wine, and made her laugh, and by the time she forgot about the whole thing it was nearing midnight, and even if he _didn’t_ have a gorgeous boy waiting to debauch him, he still needed to get up early for weapons practice, the one and only lesson he _dared_ not skip.

And now here he was, about to hop into bed with said boy. He had a moment of misgiving, but he squashed it ruthlessly. He had already decided he was going to do this. He truly _wanted_ to do it, wrath of the gods or not. So he started stripping. Court garb was a bit difficult to get out of—he really ought to have his own manservant by now, but he liked having privacy, and the man would probably spy on him for Lord Withen anyway. Tylendel moved to help him, struggling with the laces and cursing when he couldn’t figure out how to undo them.

“You unwrap them—like this, see?” But it proved more complicated than Lendel thought, or maybe he was just being impatient, as he muttered oaths about high fashion and damn tailors making everything so damn _complicated_. It probably wasn’t very funny, but he was nervous enough that it startled a laugh out of Van. A real, genuine laugh; not a sardonic snicker, or a well timed chuckle. Tylendel couldn’t help but smirk as he tried not to laugh too, but he couldn’t fend it off for long and soon they were leaning against each other giggling helplessly, and when they were done all the tension and fear was gone, and Van felt completely relaxed, and ready for—whatever it was they were about to do. He hurried out of the rest of his clothes, and gently pressed Tylendel down on to the bed, working his hands underneath his shirt before Lendel reached down to pull it off. And there he was.

It wasn’t exactly the first time Vanyel had seen a shirtless man—or even a totally naked man. But that had been different. _Lendel_ was different. Not heavily built like all the other examples of manhood he’d seen, but not a weakling, either, and he didn’t have very much hair on his body, although he did have a bit on his chest—blonde. He had freckles on his shoulders. He was absolutely the most gorgeous person Van could ever recall seeing. And this gorgeous boy, this _beautiful_ boy beneath him rose up on his elbows, and pulled Vanyel down for another kiss, and gods, he didn’t ever think he could ever get tired of kissing. He pressed on, though, because he was suddenly greedy for more than just Lendel’s mouth; he wanted to taste every inch of him. And that thought gave him ideas. _Wicked_ ideas. He’d heard enough of other young men bragging about their conquests to know that there were some things men and women did together that _they_ could do. So he went back to his earlier pattern, of tracing Lendel’s skin with his fingers and following that with his lips and tongue. When he grazed over a spot just below Tylendel’s ear, he moaned and arched up.

Well. _That_ was an interesting result. He repeated the gesture, and Lendel shivered and gasped. Vanyel smiled to himself. He was feeling much more in control now, and bolder than ever, so he lowered his whole body down till he was straddling Lendel’s hips, and there was no denying the fact that he was sitting on an erection, and that it felt damn _good_ pressing up in the area just behind his balls. He slid his hands over Tylendel’s chest, running his fingers through his chest hair, his thumbs over his nipples, before sliding down his body until his face was right in front of the tantalizing bulge in Tylendel’s breeches. Slowly he ran his palm over it. Tylendel gasped and arched up again, and put a hand on Vanyel’s shoulder. Van slid his palm up the inside of his thigh as Tylendel moaned and rocked his hips up. Vanyel couldn’t take it any longer and without bothering with the laces, pulled his breeches and smallclothes down, and Tylendel’s cock sprang free.

He studied it for a moment, just looking. It was hard to see in the dim light, but it was thick and long, curving up towards his stomach, and the head seemed a darker color than the rest. He didn’t suppose it was particularly—special, or anything, except for the fact that it was _Tylendel’s_. And again, it wasn’t even the first cock he’d seen besides his own, but it was completely fascinating. He touched his finger to the tip, and traced its length, the skin smooth and taught, before he slowly wrapped his hand around it. He stroked ever so slightly, and Lendel’s hips rocked up again and he cried out. Vanyel continued stroking, noting the different reactions different motions and levels of pressure made. It was certainly heady, giving Tylendel pleasure like this.

But the more Vanyel pleasured Tylendel with his hand, the more he thought about his earlier idea. His mouth started watering at the thought, and the moment suddenly felt completely surreal. He wondered if he was actually about to do what he realized he really, really wanted to do. He brought his face closer, and inhaled the sharp, musky, not unpleasant odor. He stuck out his tongue, licked. Salty. Warm. He kept his hand wrapped around it, barely applying any pressure, as he sucked the head into his mouth and worked his tongue over it, careful to keep his mouth open enough so he didn’t hurt Tylendel with his teeth. Just _thinking_ about sucking a cock seemed like it should be revolting, but it wasn’t too bad. So far it seemed kind of nice, actually. And judging from the sounds coming from the top of the bed, he wasn’t making a bad showing for his first attempt. Tylendel was panting and gripping the sheets with white knuckles, and his whole body seemed to be trembling from the effort to keep from thrusting into Vanyel’s mouth.

Vanyel decided he’d teased enough, and increased the pressure from his hand as he sucked a bit more of Tylendel’s cock into his mouth. It hit his soft palette and he felt dangerously close to gagging, so he spit it out to a more manageable length and began sucking and working his tongue in earnest. Tylendel’s moans were increasing in intensity. He wasn’t really saying anything, just crying out and gasping, and alternating between gripping the headboard and the sheets, and throwing his head back and shuddering. It was thrilling, it was intoxicating, to realize it was _Vanyel_ who was doing that to him, making him completely lose control of himself and his reactions. So even though his jaw was starting to ache, he didn’t want to pull off.

But eventually it started to _really_ hurt, and it was getting hard to breathe, so he reluctantly pulled off, and went back to using his hand. As soon as he did, though, Tylendel reached down and grabbed his hands and pulled him back up for another kiss. He spread his legs and Vanyel nestled himself between them so that their cocks lined up, and then Lendel reached down and grabbed them both, rubbing them together and rocking his hips. And holy mother of the _gods_ , nothing he’d ever done to himself felt as good as _this_. He threw his head back and gasped, before leaning back down and sucking on the spot below Tylendel’s ear. He began thrusting forward to meet Tylendel’s hand as he stroked their cocks, and soon enough his mind was gone, completely overwhelmed by the sensations, and his thrusts became more forceful, more erratic, as everything began to unravel, and then Tylendel yelled, louder than ever before, and his whole body went rigid, and he came between them, his seed hitting their chests and bellies in spurts.

It was enough to send him over the edge, and he went completely still, and his breath caught in his chest, and sparks danced in front of his eyes as he fell, endlessly suspended in ecstasy, until he finally hit the bottom, gasping and shuddering with the force of his orgasm. He held himself still for a moment, trying to regain his equilibrium, until his arms couldn’t support him anymore and he rolled off to the side. Tylendel rolled over to meet him and propped his head on his elbow as he looked down at Van, who lay with his eyes closed, still feeling shaken. It had been…he didn’t know if he had the words to describe it. Intense. Good. Like he’d been taken apart and was trying to put himself back together again. He felt Tylendel stroking his hair away from his forehead, and opened his eyes to Lendel’s smiling face. He couldn’t help but smile back, and with his other hand Lendel reached across and grabbed Van’s hand, twining their fingers together. He lay down next to him, not saying anything, but then, not really needing to.

After a few moments passed, and Vanyel felt sufficiently recovered, he decided that something needed to be done about their current state—he for one wasn’t about to fall asleep sticky and sweaty and covered in semen. He rolled out of bed and dampened a handkerchief with the remnant of water in his washbasin, and wiped his chest and belly before rinsing it and taking it over to Tylendel, who was stretched out like a cat, watching him with an indolent and appreciative grin on his face. Van felt a blush coloring his cheeks, and went to wash Tylendel as a way to cover his embarrassment.

When he was finished, Tylendel grabbed his wrist. “Hey,” he said.

Vanyel looked up and met his eyes, unsure of what he was feeling. No doubt he had enjoyed himself, but—a line had been crossed. What they’d done tonight, there was no taking back. All his uncertainties were back, swirling around his head, and he could do nothing to stop them.

Tylendel let go of his wrist, and touched his face, stroking his hair off his sweaty forehead. “That was good,” he said, smiling, and he brought their lips together, chastely, and pulled Vanyel into his lap, taking the handkerchief from him and tossing it to the floor. Vanyel was content for the moment to let Tylendel do what he wanted. He rested his head against Tylendel’s warm chest as Lendel wrapped his arms around him, and tried to let go of his thoughts. This was supposed to be a special time. He was supposed to be happy. But instead he felt dread. And shame. Now that his desire was fulfilled, it was too easy to remember the reasons why he’d been so hesitant to let this happen in the first place.

“Hey,” Tylendel said, concern in his voice. “Ashke, what’s the matter?”

Vanyel tried to form his incoherent thoughts and feelings into words, but he couldn’t manage it. He sighed in frustration.

Tylendel tightened his arms around him, held him closer. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know?” Tylendel said. “If that’s what’s bothering you. I used to think there was something wrong with me, for wanting boys instead of girls, but there really isn’t.”

All his life he’d known he was different; well, he _was_ different in every way it was possible to _be_ different from the other men and boys in his family, but this difference seemed to be the root of everything. It was possible, probable, even, that his father had suspected he was fey from the time he was small, and that was why he’d pushed him so hard into weapons training and hunting, and hated it so much when Vanyel studied music and wore stylish clothes. And he didn’t have any way to prove it, but Van was certain that his father had arranged for that tavern maid to try and seduce him that first night on the road. Come to that, it seemed like a few of the girls at the keep were especially ardent in trying to capture his attention. Which wasn’t so very unusual in and of itself, he supposed, but they kept at it even after he’d made it clear he had no interest, and he knew for a fact they were sleeping around with some of his cousins as well. It seemed like everyone had been in on the secret but him, and tried to “cure” him. Only it hadn’t worked, obviously. All the beatings in weapons practice, all the animals slaughtered on the hunt, all the attempts at seduction had come to nothing, because here he was, in bed with a boy. And he absolutely could not imagine ever doing anything like this with a girl and getting much enjoyment out of it. Although he supposed he could if he had too. As long as it was dark. And she was a mute.

“How do you know that?” Van murmured into Tylendel’s neck, feeling—he didn’t even know. All he knew was that Tylendel was so confident, and he was _good_ , a genuinely good, kind, gifted person. The kind of person the gods loved and favored.

Tylendel sighed. “Look, being different is just—being different. There’s nothing _wrong_ with us. You didn’t choose to be this way, did you? If you could make yourself interested in girls, you would be, right? But you don’t get to choose who you’re attracted to, or who you fall in love with. You don’t get to choose whether you’re born common or noble, or short or tall. It’s just a part of you.” He pressed a kiss into the side of Vanyel’s head, caressing his still damp hair.

“And what about the gods?” Vanyel whispered, more than half afraid that Tylendel wouldn’t have an answer.

Tylendel snorted. “And what _about_ the gods?” his tone derisive. “Let me give you some advice, ashke: don’t pay attention to priests. You’ll be happier.” Tylendel felt Vanyel’s start of surprise. “I mean it. Well, sometimes they say good things, like be kind to strangers and help your neighbor and be charitable and all that—but you didn’t need a _priest_ to tell you that, did you? And anyway, I don’t think the gods are _half_ as interested in our private lives as they say they are. In the grand scheme of things, is it _really_ that important whether people have sex before they’re married, or have sex with people the same gender as they are? As long as you’re not raping or killing or stealing, then how does being a man who loves another man automatically make you a bad person?”

“Do you even believe in the gods, then?” Vanyel felt a flash of disquiet at the thought.

“I believe in the gods, ashke,” Tylendel reassured him. “I just don’t believe in the people who claim to _represent_ them. I believe that if what we just did is so terrible, then the gods must be cruel or stupid to make us this way, to force us to have to choose between having love and partnership in _this_ life and salvation in the next, when everyone else gets to have both, ” he said with conviction.

And that—actually made a whole lot of sense. There was no doubt that Tylendel was right, about not having a choice what sex person you were attracted to. Gods knew he’d spent a frustrating amount of time trying to deny his feelings for Tylendel, trying to convince himself that he was actually interested in girls’ bodies. Maybe Lendel was right. That didn’t make it any easier to deal with other people’s prejudice, but at least he didn’t have to worry about being some kind of abomination. He wrapped his arms tighter around Tylendel, feeling—he almost didn’t dare to feel relieved. But he was. Everything Tylendel said made _so much sense_. The worry that had always been present in the back of his mind since he’d first begun to understand his feelings was gone. And he could finally allow himself to feel happy, and sated, and enjoy the feel of his lover’s naked body pressing against his.

He lifted his head and pressed his lips to Tylendel’s cheek, smiling. “Oh,” he said. Lendel smiled back and kissed him on the lips again, and they settled down against the pillows, getting comfortable as sleep finally caught up with them.

***

When Vanyel woke up in the earliest, darkest hours of the morning, he couldn’t recall ever being this happy. It terrified him.

He should have known better than to let this happen. Happiness never lasted—and he had so much to lose, now. Because even if he believed that Tylendel would never hurt him, never abandon him, never make him feel worthless, there were so many other things that could go wrong, the least of which was Lord Withen finding out about their affair. And even if he never did, Vanyel couldn’t stay in Haven forever. Eventually Withen would decide that it was time for him to return home and take his rightful place as Lord of Forst Reach. And it wouldn’t be long after _that_ that he’d be saddled with a bride, more than likely one of the vacuous butterfly-brains from Court, and be expected to…reproduce. The thought in and of itself was horrifying, and the implication was far worse: that it meant the end of his relationship with Tylendel. He supposed that they could _try_ to make it work after he came into his inheritance and Tylendel earned his Whites. He could probably come up with convincing reasons to visit Haven every now and then. But the fact was that he’d be in Forst Reach most of the time, and Tylendel would be in the capitol, and it was a fortnight’s travel in _decent conditions_ between the two. They could try, but it would never last. He would never be able to hold Lendel’s attention. Tylendel said he was bright and beautiful, but those weren’t exactly rare traits. He was eminently replaceable, no doubt with one of the hundreds of other _bright_ and _beautiful_ young men in Haven, in the palace, even, who were much easier to get along with, whom Tylendel could be with without worrying about causing a political scandal if people ever found out about it. And Vanyel didn’t think he could blame Tylendel, when it came to that. Tylendel _deserved_ a lover like that.

It was hard not to think those thoughts, but he tried. Because this was happening, _right now_ , and it was probably the only time he would ever be truly loved, and he couldn’t afford to spoil it anymore with his bad moods. It was too precious.

Seeing Tylendel in his bed, with a tiny smile of satisfaction on his face, Vanyel realized that he had gone from simply thinking that Tylendel was beautiful, to genuinely liking him, to falling hopelessly in real, actual love with him. At some point in his life he’d started believing that romantic love was just a poetic conceit, a concept dreamed up by Bards who needed to stay in business. But it existed, and it felt exactly like it was described in the songs and stories. And if there had _ever_ , in fact, been any chance of ending this whole messy affair with his heart intact, then it was long past.

Just then Tylendel rolled over, without even opening his eyes, and wrapped his body around Van’s, nuzzling his neck with a contented sigh. And Vanyel couldn’t keep himself from thinking that no matter how much they loved each other, it was going to end in heartbreak. So he clung to Lendel, twining their legs together, and wished with all his heart that there was some way to make it work. Then Lendel kissed him, slow and lazy, his stubble scratching Van’s cheeks and chin, and Van kissed back, frantic and desperate, suddenly needing very badly the ecstasy, the moment of absolute bliss where nothing existed except himself and his lover. He needed to forget, to pretend for at least a few moments that they were perfectly ordinary boys who could do what they wanted, love who they wanted, and damn the consequences.

Tylendel, thank the gods, seemed to sense what he needed, or at least he didn’t question it, and instead of pulling back and asking what was wrong, he reached between their bodies and grabbed Vanyel’s already hard cock, and stroked him firmly but slowly, and _gods_ , it was just what he needed, intense enough to make his brain melt, but not so much that he would shoot off in a matter of seconds. Tylendel broke the kiss and started to go down to return the favor of sucking his cock, but that wasn’t where he needed Lendel’s mouth. He needed to feel Lendel’s closeness all over his body, to cover him up, to protect him from everything that threatened his happiness. He gripped the back of Tylendel’s head, pulled him up and kissed him hard, and refused to let him go. Vanyel wrapped his legs around Tylendel’s waist and thrust up; Tylendel took his hand off Vanyel’s cock to grab his hip, hoisting him up, adjusting their positions so that their cocks lined up, and met he Van’s thrusts. They rocked together, and it was just as amazing as it had been last night, but it wasn’t enough. He still needed _more_ , somehow, and he panted in frustration.

Then Tylendel did something new. He reached down between them again, between Vanyel’s legs, and rubbed the skin behind his balls, before his fingers drifted even lower, and touched his hole. It was—shocking. It felt—good, _astonishingly_ good, and he brought his hips down, seeking more contact. Tylendel rubbed all around his hole, before pressing the tip of his finger very firmly against it. If he stopped to think about it, what Tylendel was doing should seem disgusting, but Vanyel didn’t need to think; he needed to _feel_. Vanyel bit his lip and hummed with pleasure. Then Tylendel rose up and reached over to the bedside table where Vanyel kept a jar of ointment he used to keep his hands soft. He opened it and slicked a generous amount onto his fingers, and reached between Vanyel’s legs again and went back to his gentle massage. He carefully circled around the entrance, rubbing and occasionally pushing his finger in again, and twisting it around, and then _oh gods what was that_.

He was so startled by the sudden sensation that he couldn’t even make a noise, just gasp and clutch the sheets. He moved his hips, feeling Tylendel’s finger inside him and pressing down on it, arching his back shamelessly. Then one finger became two, and that was…a bit uncomfortable. He hid his grimace but Tylendel was experienced enough to know what Van was feeling. “Shhh, love, it’s alright,” he whispered, kissing Vanyel’s throat, his ears. “It will get better. I’ll take care of you.” And eventually it did, right until Tylendel slid a third slick finger inside, and that was more than just uncomfortable. But he trusted Lendel, trusted him to know what he was doing, that this would start to be wonderful again. As his body relaxed, it did start to get better, better and better and then Tylendel just _stopped_ and pulled his fingers out, and Vanyel gasped in frustration, and shot him an accusing look, until he saw what exactly Lendel was doing with his fingers. He was slicking up his cock, slathering it with the ointment. Oh. So…they really did. They really _could_ do that.

Tylendel hooked Vanyel's knees over his elbows. Van could feel the head of his cock pressing against him, and all he could do was tremble in anticipation. Just seconds ago he hadn’t even known this was actually possible, and now he wanted it so much he almost felt like he was going to gag, like last night when he’d sucked Tylendel’s cock. And then Tylendel began pushing in, and it wasn’t as bad as with his fingers. There were some twinges, but nothing too terrible. He was going so agonizingly slow, pushing in slowly, stopping, pulling out the slightest bit before pushing in a bit further, and he was breathing heavily, throwing his head back and trying to maintain control. Vanyel just wanted him _now_ , but he also knew that Tylendel knew what he was doing, knew what Vanyel needed, so he just held as still as possible. Then Tylendel was inside him, all the way, and he held still, gasping, and their eyes met. Lendel’s eyes were wide, and full of raw emotion: love and lust and tenderness and even disbelief that he was here doing this, that Vanyel trusted him this much. Vanyel swallowed, feeling overcome, and he reached out to touch Lendel’s cheek, brushing that one lock of hair that was always falling into his eyes. Tylendel started thrusting then, slowly, never breaking eye contact, and it was so intense. Vanyel felt all his barriers fall one by one under Lendel’s gaze, and he welcomed it, and let Lendel in everywhere, body and heart, because he would never be complete without Tylendel, and now that he had him like this, he would never give him up, even if it meant fighting Withen tooth and nail to get him to let Vanyel renounce his title, even if it meant living as a pauper. This was worth more than anything in the world.

Then Tylendel found that place inside him again that made him completely lose control. Van’s head fell back, his mouth fell open, and gods, it was so amazing that his body could feel this—this _good_. He couldn’t keep himself from moaning, grunting and panting and arching into Tylendel’s touch, and begging him for more, _gods please don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop_. Never in his life had Vanyel ever surrendered this much control, or cared less about his dignity, his inhibitions. Tylendel let go of his legs, and Van wrapped then around Tylendel’s waist and raised his hips to meet every thrust. Lendel leaned forward and clasped their hands together, and pressed him down and kissed him roughly, sloppily, needy and desperate, and the slight change of position put just enough pressure on Vanyel’s cock to send him towards climax, and he fought it, wanting to make everything last as long as possible, because it was too soon, and he needed—he needed— _yes, oh, oh oh oh gods please_ —it was too much to take, too much sensation roiling within him, and if he didn’t have release, that moment when it felt like his heart and body were in perfect harmony, he would lose his mind. And then it hit him, burning him up from the inside out, and he couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open or closed, couldn’t scream, couldn’t _breathe_. Then it began to dissipate, and he slowly returned to his senses, focusing on tiny things to reorient himself: the sound of Tylendel’s ragged panting, the weight of his body collapsed on top of him, the way he was still gripping Tylendel’s hands so tightly that he couldn’t let go, the feel of Tylendel’s seed leaking out of him.

The sun was rising, brightening the room. Vanyel really needed to get up; he had to be at weapons practice in less than half a candlemark, and before he had to be at weapons practice he needed to wash all the sweat and seed off his body. But he didn’t, just settled more comfortably on the bed, and continued stroking Tylendel’s hair, feeling quite a bit sore, now that it was over, but also deeply satisfied and content.

He decided to skip weapons class. There’d be hell to pay for it later. But moments like this were too precious to waste.


	3. Chapter 3

Savil knew something was up the moment she laid eyes on Tylendel. He was practically radiating self satisfaction; one glance at his aura revealed why. Looked like his innate charm had finally worked on his secret lover. She snorted. Boys. Well, to be fair, girls too; she remembered being young. But she couldn’t help a little judicious teasing.

 _:My, Tylendel, you look remarkably well rested this morning.:_ Tylendel, not fooled for a second, stuck his tongue out at her and smirked. They both laughed.

 _:I really hope he’s worth it, kechara,:_ she said.

Tylendel’s smirk turned into a thoughtful smile and he said, _:You know Savil? He really is. I know you have your doubts, but he’s really sweet and he cares about me. I love him.:_

 _:Oh, havens. Well, as long as you’re happy.:_

“Where’s Van this morning?” she asked, seeing his presence was missing from the breakfast table. She was willing to let him do what he wanted, but he _was_ going to attend his classes, and Savil had only been half joking when she threatened him with a belting if he was caught skipping.

“I uh, I don’t think he feels well.”

Savil raised an eyebrow. “Your Empathy tell you that, did it?”

Tylendel sighed. _:You know, don’t you?:_

 _:I suspected.:_ She’d scarcely credited it when she first began to suspect it was _Vanyel_ he was talking about. But there had been something different about her nephew lately, and he’d certainly been more civil, where Tylendel was concerned.

 _:For how long?:_

 _:Oh, the last couple of weeks. Anyone who doesn’t know you as well as I do and who doesn’t know how Vanyel normally acts probably wouldn’t be able to tell.:_

 _:He’s going to have a litter of kittens when he finds out. Savil, he thinks you’ll tell his father and send him back to Forst Reach.:_

She frowned. _:I’m a cold bitch, I’ll grant you, but I wouldn’t tell anyone, least of all Withen! I know what happens to boys like him when people find out about their preferences. More importantly, I know what my_ brother _is likely to do, and as much as I dislike my nephew, I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone.:_

 _:Well, can you tell_ him _that? I told him essentially the same thing, but he’s convinced you’d do anything to get rid of him.:_

 _:Bah. He’s an obnoxious brat, but you’ve gotten attached to him. I’d rather not preempt your broken heart by sending him off before Withen decides he wants him back.:_

 _:Um. Thank you?:_ Tylendel frowned. _:Look, Savil, I know you don’t like him, but, could you at least try to be more—to get along?:_ He made his eyes wider and gave her a look that he’d been told could wring tears out of stone.

 _:Caught in the middle, are you? No, I get it, kechara. Just remember that this is a two way road.:_

 _:Thanks, teacher-love. I’ll talk to him, too.:_ He rose, picking up a spare plate and piling food on it.

“I think I’ll take Van some breakfast. But, uh, I really am pretty sure he won’t be going to any of his morning classes.”

“Wore him out, did you?”

Tylendel blushed.

***

Vanyel stretched luxuriously, feeling the vertebrae in his back pop one by one, followed by his shoulders, wrists and fingers. He was still quite sore from earlier, but Lendel had reassured him it wouldn’t always be this bad; his body just had to get used to it. Tylendel was gone now; in the middle of eating breakfast a message had been delivered to Savil that there was a sudden opening in a special equitation class for Herald trainees and their Companions, so he would be out of the suite by midmorning from now on, and be gone until noon. They still got to have lunch together, though, and of course now they had nights as well. He idly wondered how much of Court he could skip before people started talking. Missing the occasional session or leaving early here and there wasn’t so odd; but if he made a habit of it people would gossip and speculate and he would really rather they didn’t. Some of them might begin to suspect the truth.

He was really starting to feel that he would like a hot bath. Back home his brothers and cousins had thought him odd for enjoying bathing so much; for them it was a chore. They used to think it was funny to sneak in and take his clothes, or switch the towels for smelly dirty horse blankets. But it was so rare he had a chance to sleep in and just be lazy. He stretched again and yawned and decided that there was being lazy, and there was being _lazy_ , and he was definitely getting out of bed.

Once he was finally up, and the breakfast dishes collected (Tylendel had thoughtfully brought him breakfast in bed, and they’d shared a leisurely meal of poached eggs on toast, smoked trout, and soft, runny cheese with honey and berries) he grabbed his robe from the wardrobe and a set of clothes, and made his way to the bathing room. One benefit of living with his beastly aunt was being able to use the palace amenities. The bathing room in the Herald’s wing was small but well-appointed. There were three _porcelain_ tubs, beautiful colored tiles arranged in geometric patterns on the floor and part of the walls, a huge mirror on one wall, pleasant smelling soaps and salts and oils to add to the water, and piles and piles of soft towels. You had to fill the tubs yourself though, and that could take a while. Although at least there was a drain in the tubs and a grate underneath each of them, so you didn’t have to waste time and get sweaty dumping the water out. There was a bucket hanging on a hook and two taps in the farthest wall; one was connected to a boiler in the adjacent room, and the other connected to a cistern on the roof, so you could mix hot and cold water until it was just right.

Vanyel liked his water extremely hot, and while it was a chore filling the tub, as he lowered himself into the water redolent with lavender and rosemary from the handfuls of salt he’d added, it was certainly worth it. He sank down to his chin and sighed in bliss, remembering last night. He was feeling pleasantly lightheaded from the heat and steam. All his worries and doubts were banished, at least for the time being, and Vanyel thought that maybe he had learned the trick of living in the moment. On the surface, nothing about his situation had changed. But he felt so _hopeful_ , now, that he could find a way to defy Withen.

But, wait. Suppose he _did_ do it. Suppose that Withen somehow _did_ let him abdicate. What would he do then? The thought was sobering. Besides being in love with Tylendel, what was he good at?

Well, he was a skilled rider, and he and Star had quickly established themselves as the head of their equitation class. But, he suddenly realized, without his family’s support, how would he keep Star? Horses were _expensive_. The cost of her food alone was staggering, and then there was also the cost of stabling, keeping her tack in repair, shoeing her, gods forbid she should ever get sick…damn.

Alright then…music. Without the burden of being Withen’s heir, he would be free to enroll at Bardic. Which…also cost money. It was slowly dawning on him what it truly meant to be a member of a privileged class. And what his life would really be like if he gave up that privilege. Did he really want to? Was love really worth it? Was Tylendel worth giving up never needing to worry about money, always having good food, comfortable quarters, fashionable clothes? Was he really _that_ spoiled?

The sudden flush he felt was from embarrassment, not the steam. He couldn’t believe he’d even considered it, however briefly. _Yes_. A _thousand_ yeses. If he had to wear threadbare second hand clothes, walk everywhere he went and eat plain food, or even go hungry, it was absolutely worth it, as long as Tylendel would have him.

So, without his riding skills and music, that left weaponry. His weapons work had improved greatly since he’d been in Haven. And he’d been learning other things as well, tactics, logistics, tracking. And all his armor and weapons were flat out his. All it took to keep them in repair was oil and a whetstone, both cheap and easily acquired. And now that he was learning from a master who understood what his strengths and weaknesses were, he was even _enjoying_ weapons practice. He was still unsure about actual fighting, though. Killing. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to do it. If he’d ever actually stand a chance in a real battle.

But if he was with Tylendel, then how likely would it be he’d ever be in a pitched battle? Lendel was a mage; mages were too valuable to risk on an actual battlefield; they were usually somewhere _near_ so they could actually do some good, but always away from the actual fighting, and always protected. Huh. That actually presented a possibility. He remembered something from logistics; that a lot of times, in order to cast a complicated spell, mages has to go into trance, and once they were in a trance they were defenseless. Outside of Valdemar, most battle mages were assigned at least _one_ bodyguard. In Valdemar of course, they had their Companions. But Companions couldn’t do _everything_. They weren’t invulnerable.

He was so lost in thought he didn’t notice his bathwater getting cold. With a grimace, he dunked his head and soaped his hair, and grabbed the edges of the tub and pulled himself up, deciding he had thought enough about the future for now. There was time to work everything out. And if he didn’t get out now, he might miss lunch. He wanted to hear about Lendel’s new class—and maybe tease him if he was feeling saddle sore.

Vanyel absentmindedly dried himself and got dressed, deciding he could wait ‘till he got back to the suite to do anything about his hair. He used his towel to wipe off the floor and the tub—that was something that Savil had stressed, don’t leave a mess. There were servants to take care of the major cleaning, but don’t leave puddles everywhere for someone to slip in. He wasn’t inclined to be messy, anyway. He never felt comfortable knowing that servants had access to all his belongings, and he liked to give them as little reason as possible to fuss over him, which was why he’d taken the dishes out of his room this morning. It wasn’t so much that he thought he couldn’t trust them not to steal, or that he was trying to be thoughtful by saving them work, but in some small way, it almost made him feel violated.

He arrived in the suite just as Margret was laying lunch out on the sideboard, the usual fare: sliced cheese, vegetables and fruit, and Tylendel’s favorite meat rolls, little loaves of bread with sausage and cheese baked in the middle. His bed was made when he went back into his room, and he was toweling and combing his hair when he heard Tylendel come in through the garden door. He turned and didn’t bother hiding a smile when Tylendel grimaced and collapsed into the armchair.

“I _thought_ I was a good rider,” he said with groan.

“I’m sure,” Van said, trying not to laugh.

“Oh go ahead and laugh, horse master.”

Not long ago Vanyel’s pride would have been stung by that, but he was used to the way Tylendel teased him now.

“Now you know how _I_ felt this morning,” he said. “You need a hot bath with salt,” he pronounced.

“You and baths,” Tylendel said. “I swear you think a hot bath cures everything. Head ache? Take a bath. Can’t sleep? Take a bath. Indigestion?”

“Sore ass?” Vanyel interrupted, and they both burst out laughing. Vanyel loved this—how he could say anything, no matter how outrageous, and Tylendel wouldn’t think it was odd or stupid. He got up and walked over to the chair, and grabbed Tylendel’s hands and pulled him up with a groan.

“Come on, I saw lunch on the sideboard when I came in.”

“If my ass has to be sore, at least my stomach can be full,” he said with mock-resignation, and that set them both off again. They were laughing as they came out of the room, and Savil looked up from the dining room table, an eyebrow raised. Vanyel stopped short, and Tylendel kept going, not noticing. Fear washed over him like ice water. _Dammit, how could I be so careless?_ he thought.

“Oh, don’t look so stricken, lad. Your secret’s safe with me.” And she went back to her lunch. Tylendel looked at him, and realized what had happened. He walked back to Van, and made as if to put his arms around him, but Vanyel put his hands out and stopped him, shaking his head, and he turned and went back in his room.

Tylendel followed him, and came up behind him and put his hands on Vanyel’s shoulders, rubbing them. Van was shaking.

“Van, hey, it’s alright, love. You don’t have to worry, she already knew, she’s known all along.”

Vanyel turned, hackles raised and betrayal on his face. “You _told her_? How could you—“

“I didn’t tell her about us, Vanyel. I told _you_ that we couldn’t keep a secret from her! She figured it out on her own. She told me she knew about us this morning, and I was going to talk to you about it, but then the class, and there just wasn’t time. It’s _all right_ , Vanyel.” He took Van into his arms, and he was still trembling.

“She knew all this time and she didn’t tell anyone, and this morning she promised me she wouldn’t send you back home. She _promised_.”

Vanyel sighed and covered his face with his hands. He heard Tylendel, and his mind understood, but his instincts were still screaming at him. He was so used to keeping _everything_ a secret, so used to not trusting people.

“What about Mardic and Donni?” he asked.

“The lifebonded? Van, they’re so wrapped up in each other the palace could fall down around them and they wouldn’t notice.”

Vanyel nodded.

“Come on, Van, let’s go get lunch and talk to Savil.”

Vanyel grimaced at the thought. “No, thank you. I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Van, _please_? I know you still don’t trust her, but she’s, well, she’s like you.”

“Like _me_?” he scoffed. “What in the world do we possibly have in common?”

Tylendel smiled shyly. “Well. She can be a little scary and intimidating, before you get to know her, but she’s really kind and sweet underneath it all.”

Van said nothing, but let his raised eyebrow communicate his disbelief.

“Please, Van? At least try to get along with her?”

Vanyel sighed and ran his fingers though his now dry hair. “I—I will. But not right now, please.” His voice still trembled, and Tylendel knew he still wasn’t over the shock. He kissed Van’s forehead, then his nose, then his lips.

“I’m going to go talk to her, love. Will you be all right?”

Van smiled shakily and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Yes. You go and eat lunch. I’ll stay in here.”

Tylendel kissed his lips once more and left, and Vanyel sat on the bed and tried to get his shaking under control.

***

Tylendel exited Vanyel’s (their?) room alone. Savil wondered again just what it was about him that Tylendel had found to love. He never had seemed the type to pursue someone just because of his looks, but that was all Vanyel seemed to have in his favor. Savil was certain that sooner or later, Vanyel would break Tylendel’s foolish heart, and being forced to live with two teenage ex lovers was _not_ Savil’s definition of pleasant. Maybe if that happened, Vanyel would choose to go back home, or maybe she could arrange to foist him off on someone else.

 _:I’ll be honest, Tylendel; I have no idea what you see in him.:_

 _He’s afraid, alright?:_ Tylendel was immediately defensive. _:He’s afraid, and acting like this is the only way he has of protecting himself. If you knew half of what he went through at the hands of his so-called family, you’d understand.:_

She would have responded, but Tylendel tightened his shields and blocked her out. Wonderful. It looked like Vanyel was rubbing off on him.

But maybe she was being uncharitable. Gods knew it had been hard for _her_ growing up in Forst Reach, and it seemed that her brother had turned out just like their father. And she recalled the wording of the letter he’d sent her, back when he’d told her— _told_ her, not asked, the pompous ass!—that he was sending Vanyel to live with her. _No hanging about with Bards, no fancy clothes, and see that he goes to weapons practice. Make a man out of him._.

It was pretty clear that Vanyel didn’t meet his father’s exacting standards of masculinity. No doubt Withen had expected his eldest son to be a copy of him, and Vanyel was anything but. And Vanyel had to know how his father felt about him. Children were far more astute than adults gave them credit for. And from what she’d seen of his brothers during her last visit, _they_ certainly measured up. So not only was Withen disappointed in him, but he likely also resented Vanyel for being born before the _suitable_ heirs.

Savil felt a tentative tendril of thought brush her mind.

 _:Yes, kechara?_

 _:I’m sorry for snapping at you,:_ Tylendel apologized.

 _:I’m sorry, too. That comment was out of line.:_

 _:It’s just that this isn’t how he really is, Savil,:_ he said earnestly. _:I know he comes off as cold and arrogant, but this—this persona, it’s just something he created. He retreats into it whenever he feels threatened or like he has no control. Which is pretty much all the time. His family—his father in particular, treated him horribly._ I _think it was abuse. Not just emotional, either. That weapons master his father hired had free reign with him, and used to beat the hell out of him just because he wasn’t “manly” enough. And his brothers and cousins hated and bullied him. His brothers were jealous of him, resented him for “cheating” them of what they thought should have been_ their _birthright. And Withen only encouraged them at it! He thought it was a good way to “toughen him up”. The only way Van could cope with any of it was to_ stop feeling _. And now he doesn’t know any other way to be.:_

 _Tylendel,:_ she began hesitantly. _:Are you sure it was abuse? I’m not trying to say he’s not telling the truth, but you aren’t precisely in a position to be unbiased. Perhaps his perspective—could he maybe be exaggerating to get sympathy from you?_

Tylendel looked at her blankly, before he stood up and almost shouted at her.

 _:He would_ never _lie or exaggerate about that—about anything. Aren’t you forgetting I’m an Empath? It takes a lot to get a lie past me, and besides that, I_ Felt _his fear of the man. Just this spring, he beat Vanyel so bad he was knocked unconscious, and broke his arm._ After _Van tried to yield to him. And when the arms master went to Withen and claimed Vanyel had been cheating, and that’s why he beat Van so badly, Withen believed him without even asking Vanyel for_ his _side of the story. Even the people who witnessed it, who_ knew _that Vanyel hadn’t done anything wrong didn’t stand up for him. None of them told the truth—that the old bastard_ beat him up _because he was angry that Vanyel had the audacity to learn a style of fighting that was actually suited to him, and was even good enough at it to land a hit on him.:_ Tylendel actually looked _disgusted_ with her. _:Gods, no wonder he’s so afraid of you. I never would have thought that he actually had a reason to be.:_

 _:Tylendel,:_ , she began, as he turned and began walking back to their room. _Tylendel, wait._ Tylendel. _:_

He ignored her. She had only ever seen him get this angry and defensive when it came to his twin—gods, was it really that serious?

 _Well, old woman. You certainly put your foot in it this time._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic sex scene in this chapter.

“Are you planning on going to Court tonight?” Tylendel asked, sprawled on Van’s bed.

Van said nothing, just hummed assent as he perused his wardrobe. He couldn’t decide what he wanted to wear—he was getting tired of his current wardrobe. And Withen was too stingy to let him have extra money for a tailor. It had been battle enough letting him have even the pathetic selection he currently owned. 

“Van,” Tylendel began, hesitantly. Vanyel turned his full attention to him. “Do you _like_ going to Court?”

“Sometimes,” he replied, a little confused by the odd question, and wondering why Tylendel had seemed hesitant to ask it. “Most of the time it’s deadly dull, though.” He shrugged, and thought nothing more of it. Maybe if he paired the cream shirt with the emerald coat—but no, he wore those two in combination frequently. And the cut of the emerald coat was a little out of style, since last winter at least. Maybe he should just go with black, but then he _did_ wear black a lot, and even though it suited him and was always tasteful, he didn’t want to be boring. Or perhaps—

“Do you want to do something else tonight?” 

“Like what?” Vanyel replied absently.

“We could go down into the city,” he suggested diffidently. 

“The city,” Van repeated, not sure what Tylendel was getting at. He turned to look at Tylendel, the question in his eyes. Tylendel _knew_ the need for secrecy. 

“Yes. You haven’t been much, have you? I could show you around, and I have some friends you could meet that I haven’t seen in a while. If you wanted to, I mean, I understand if you’d think it was boring, socializing with us common folk…”

Van was about to protest Tylendel being anything but _common_ before he realized Tylendel was teasing. He smirked and threw a shirt at Tylendel, hitting him in the face.

Tylendel grinned hugely and threw the shirt back. “But seriously, they won’t know who you are, and you can trust them to be discreet in any case. It’ll never get back to anyone.”

“I—guess I can skip tonight,” he replied, speculatively. 

“Good,” he replied. “Now, get over here.”

Vanyel raised an eyebrow as he walked over the bedside expectantly. He stopped at the side of the bed, and Tylendel lunged forward and grabbed his wrists, pulling Van on top of him and then rolling him over. Van felt his heart begin to pound and gods, the way Tylendel kissed him was so damn good….

Lendel pushed his shirt up and moved down to kiss his chest and belly, and his stomach fluttered with each swirl of Tylendel’s tongue and scrape of his teeth. When he reached down to begin unlacing his breeches, he gasped; just the barest touch sent a wave of sensation that left him lightheaded with lust and anticipation.

Lendel pushed his breeches down and just stared at him for a moment. “You are so lovely,” he said. “And you’re mine.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Vanyel hissed as Tylendel took him into his mouth.

***

“Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?” Vanyel asked nervously as they stepped out of the cab. They’d left the palace at different times, from different exits, and met at an inn that Vanyel had never been to or heard of. Now they were in a part of the city that, according to Tylendel, was an ordinary enough series of streets and avenues which were filled with ordinary enough middle class shops and inns by day. But at night it became something else entirely.…

“Vanyel. Yes. We’re as safe here as we can be anywhere. Think about it. _If_ someone else from Court sees you here, then how would they explain why _they_ were here in the first place? They would be here for the same reason you are.”

“I know. But—“

“But, but, but. Is that all you know how to say?” Tylendel teased, but there was a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Vanyel closed his mouth, feeling awkward and upset with himself. _Why_ couldn’t he just do what Tylendel said and _relax_? Since he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he began paying attention to the people around them on the street. They seemed like ordinary folk at first glance, until one pair caught his eye. They seemed like any other courting couple, but upon closer inspection they were both women, and one of them was in men’s clothes. He looked closer at some of the men they were passing. Some of them looked to be men, but a fair number of them were women, as well.

And, wonder of wonders, two men were walking arm in arm, laughing and smiling at each other fondly. 

Tylendel sighed. “Van, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“It was different for me; I never had a choice to hide what I am. It’s hard for me sometimes to understand what it must be like for you. And I’m sorry I was short with you just now.” He stopped and turned to face Van. He made as if to grab Vanyel’s hands, but stopped himself, unsure if Van would welcome the gesture.

Steeling himself, Vanyel closed the distance and took Tylendel’s hands in his own.

No one stopped and stared. No one even seemed to notice. 

“It’s all right,” he said. Tylendel smiled at him, and they started down the street again, Vanyel holding tightly to his hand.

As twilight faded into true night, the streets took on an almost festival-like air. There were musicians on many of the street corners, and even one woman contorting herself into utterly _impossible_ positions. There were vendors selling drinks made of fruit juice and liquor, roasted nuts, pies and pastries, every variation of meat and vegetables on a stick imaginable. Some of the shops were even open; he spotted one that sold cosmetics, and a few dress and hat shops.

It was too much to take in at once. Half of him wanted to run far away from this terrifying, exotic place. The other half wanted to shed his inhibitions and join them. 

“So, what do you think?” Tylendel said, nudging him with his elbow. Lendel had been content to remain silent so far, perhaps knowing that Van needed time to process everything he was seeing and feeling.

“I…I don’t know. It’s unbelievable. I never thought there could be so many people like us.”

Tylendel grinned. “Isn’t it crazy? We all spend so long thinking we’re the only ones. But there are hundreds of us, maybe even _thousands_ in the capitol alone. Just think how many more must be in the rest of Valdemar. In the rest of the _world_.”

Tylendel bought drinks and spiced lamb pastries, and they continued to simply wander around the streets, not going anywhere in particular. On one street corner there was an actor’s troupe performing a scene from a popular play. They stopped and watched, and Tylendel nudged Vanyel again. 

“See the actor playing Mathilde? He’s a friend of mine. Want to stay after and meet him?”

 _Him?_ Vanyel wanted to ask Tylendel what he was talking about, but Tylendel was paying attention to the play and it would be rude to interrupt, so Vanyel watched, too, hoping to figure out what was going on. “Mathilde” was in the middle of her famous soliloquy about feeling torn between the attentions of two suitors, one of whom she was in love with, but who was from a poor family, the other from a wealthy family, but who she had no strong feelings for. 

The scene ended, the actors took their bows, and Tylendel waved at Mathilde, catching the actor’s attention, and she? waved back, then pointed to the two other actors and back at them. After a few moments of hurried conversation, she left them and rushed over to swoop Tylendel up in a hug.

“Oh my gods, where have you _been_? I haven’t seen you in ages!” And that—that was certainly a male voice.

“I know, I know, I’m a terrible friend! They keep me hopping at the palace, you know how it is.”

“Oh, I certainly do,” the actor said, getting an eyeful of Vanyel.

Tylendel laughed and said, “Behave yourself, Micah.”

Lendel held out his hand and Vanyel took it, feeling flustered, and Tylendel pulled him close. “Vanyel, this is my good friend Micah, Micah, this is Vanyel.”

Micah executed a somewhat exaggerated curtsey. In Mathilde’s voice, he said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, good sir.”

Vanyel hesitated for a second before letting years of etiquette training take over, and executed an equally embellished courtly bow and said, ‘The pleasure is mine, my lady.”

Micah laughed and said, “Oh, I _like_ this one,” in his normal voice. “Did the two of you have plans for the rest of the evening?”

Vanyel looked to Tylendel. He shrugged.

“Then let’s go somewhere so we can catch up and get drunk.”

“Sounds like fun to me,” Tylendel said.

“Good! I just need to make a quick trip back to the theater to change.”

Tylendel rolled his eyes. “A quick trip. We’ll probably already be hungover by the time he gets back,” he said to Vanyel.

“Not if one of you pretties come with me to help me out of this rig,” Micah said coquettishly. “Tylendel, you go and get us seats at the Maiden. _You_ are coming with me,” he said to Van.

“Yes, my lady,” Tylendel said with a raised eyebrow, as Vanyel was dragged along in Micah’s formidable wake, squawking an undignified protest.

 

***

 

The theater’s dressing room was well lit and almost overflowing with an assortment of costumes. There were several _glass_ mirrors on the walls, placed in front of desks heaped with an array of cosmetics and jewelry. Micah took off his wig, revealing short, tousled brown hair, and set it carefully on one of the tables.

“Untie me, would you?” he said, presenting his back. “I _can_ get out of it myself, but it really does take a while.”

Not saying anything, Vanyel began pulling the laces through the eyelets. It was a strange feeling, a sense of not-quite déjà vu. Micah pushed the dress off his shoulders to reveal the corset with special padding he wore beneath it.

“Bright gods, but it’s a relief to get this thing off,” he said, as Vanyel fumbled with the corset lacings. “Gods bless our mothers. It’s a lot of fun playing a lady on stage, but wearing that thing for several hours is a pain in the ass.” The corset finally came untied, and the illusion was broken. Vanyel awkwardly tried to avoid looking at Micah’s bare, slim torso. Not knowing anything else to do, he set the corset down next to the wig and began rifling through the paraphernalia scattered on the desk.

“Now, this,” Micah said, either not noticing Van’s discomfort, or politely pretending not to, “This part is a lot more fun.” He was seated in front of a mirror, meticulously washing his face. “Putting it on, I mean, not taking it off. I used to get in so much trouble for playing with my mother’s cosmetics.” 

Vanyel had nothing to say. He was very much wishing he was anywhere but here.

“And what about you, hmmm? Ever get caught in your mother’s wardrobe?”

Vanyel continued to pay careful attention to the gaudy stage jewelry he was rifling through, but despite himself, he felt a blush on his cheeks. Micah’s words were too close to being true, dredging up a memory he had buried deep.

“No? But you thought about it, is that it?”

Biting his lip, he admitted, “It was my sister’s.” As an afterthought he added, “I didn’t get caught.”

To Vanyel’s surprise, Micah’s expression softened. “Yeah, I had a feeling about you.” He suddenly brightened. “So. Now that you’re the next thing to grown up and far, far away from your parents, or anyone with the slightest disapproval, let’s play dress up.”

“What?” Vanyel was shocked into finally looking up.

“Go, pick out a dress while I finish washing my face.”

Completely caught off guard, he answered with an instinctive, “But I can’t!”

“Psssh, we’re the only ones in here. No one’s going to run off telling tales. And trust me on this; you are _definitely_ pretty enough to pull it off.”

That word again. Micah kept calling him that, but boys weren’t supposed to be pretty; pretty was a trait reserved solely for girls. That’s what he’d always been taught— _yes, and look at how much of what you’ve always been taught you’ve rejected._ That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? He hadn’t admitted it to himself until just now, but he’d never stopped wanting his family’s—Father’s in particular—approval. Even though he was not and never would be the son Withen had wanted and expected, even though he was so different from the rest of his family that from time to time someone would start up the old rumor that he was a changeling, he never quite gave up the hope that he could do _something_ to change Withen’s mind about him. But…he wanted boys. Wanted _Tylendel_. He loved music and still wished with all his heart he could be a Bard. And he remembered another night earlier that summer, a plain green dress and a string of pearls.

_Damn them all, anyway._

“You think so?” Van asked, tentatively. He’d thought as much, but it was something else to have another person confirm it, especially someone who wasn’t biased toward him.

“Oh, definitely,” Micah said, giving his face one final wipe with a damp cloth. “Come on, I can think of a few dresses straight off that would make you look amazing. But first we need to get you laced up.”

Before Vanyel knew quite what had happened, he was stripped down to his smallclothes, a tiny gasp escaping his lips every time Micah tightened the laces of the corset. 

“Now I know why you said that earlier,” Van said, feeling more air being squeezed out of him. 

“Said what earlier?”

“About our mothers,” he grunted.

“And you haven’t even put on shoes yet,” Micah replied with a laugh. “After a little while you sort of get used to it. Alright, done. Now let’s get you dressed.”

He led Van through the maze of fabric, seeming to know exactly where here he was going. 

“Ah, this is the one. Here, hold it up and let me get a look. Hmmm, maybe.” He folded the dress over his arm and continued searching. He went through three more, discarding two outright after only a seconds’ inspection, before settling on a rich, dark blue dress accented with lighter blue and ivory. “Oh, hells yes, look at how that color brings out your eyes. I knew this would be perfect. Here, hold your arms straight up—there. Turn around and let me tie you.”

Micah wouldn’t let him sit facing the mirror while he applied cosmetics to Vanyel’s face; the faint tickle of brushes against his sensitive skin made him want to wrinkle his nose. There was low grade tingle starting deep in his belly and emanating outwards. _I can’t believe I’m really doing this_.

“Close your eyes and try not to blink,” Micah instructed. Vanyel did as he was told, concentrating on his breathing to combat the urge to scrunch up his eyes.

“Now the lips, and…” he said, drawing the word out. “Done! Now, about your hair.” He wandered off to the back to room, where there were wigs sitting atop vaguely head-shaped stands. He returned with a wig in each hand, one blonde and one a match for his dark hair. Micah held both against his head and scrutinized him closely. “Blonde,” he declared, setting the other aside. 

Pulling him up by the hands, he spun Vanyel around to face the mirror. “Well, what do you think?”

Vanyel could only stare at his reflection in shocked silence before blurting, “Oh my gods, I look like my mother.”

“They do say all girls turn into their mothers eventually,” Micah said in amusement. 

“But, but _really_ , people always say I favor her, but this is, oh my gods.” Vanyel turned so he could see himself from all angles. ”Holy hell.” Even _his_ imagination had never been able to accurately conjure up what he would really look like dressed up like this.

The dress certainly complemented his coloring the way Micah said it would, and the artificial shape the corset lent him. The cosmetics were tastefully applied; not enough to be tawdry; just enough to accent his eyes and cheekbones and put some color in his pale skin. With the blonde hair, there was no one from the palace who would ever recognize him.

“What about you, are you going to…” Vanyel gestured in the direction of the dresses.

Micah just shrugged. “Sometimes I do, but mostly I get my fill of it on stage. Won’t take me a minute to get ready. Besides,” he grinned. “I wouldn’t want to upstage you during your debut.” 

***

They walked arm in arm down the street. Ostensibly because Vanyel was unused to walking in high heeled women’s shoes. Truthfully because Micah was fairly certain that if he _didn’t_ keep a tight hold on the boy, he’d bolt back to the theater. 

_”You really think he’ll like it?”_

_“Dearheart, trust me, he is going to_ love _it.”_

It was a probably a good thing it hadn’t occurred to Vanyel to ask Micah how exactly he was in a position to know that. Not that it mattered; in the time they’d been lovers Tylendel had never gazed at him with the rapt adoration he bestowed upon Vanyel. Nor had he ever seen Tylendel look at any of his other lovers that way. _It figures, the one who finally pinned Tylendel down_ would _be a seething mass of insecurity…_

Well, no help for it; at least the boy wasn’t another Nevis. 

_“Look, you’re highborn, right?” Vanyel cautiously nodded._

_“You’ve been to the Royal Court, haven’t you?” Another nod._

_“So just pretend this is another Court function. You’ll do fine. Just act confident.”_

The boy was certainly well schooled in controlling his facial expressions, as anyone who swam the treacherous waters of the Royal Court had to be, but his confusion and discomfort had certainly been evident to Micah—who had tread those waters himself—the moment they met, despite Vanyel’s effort to hide it. It wasn’t too difficult too see some of himself in Vanyel, although he was fortunate enough to have a family that at least tolerated his eccentricities, if they weren’t exactly approving. The first time _anyone_ came here they were shocked. But something about Vanyel made him want to play the mentor.

When they approached the front step of The Dancing Maiden, Micah paused, feeling the mounting tension in Vanyel’s grip. “Ready?” Vanyel only gave a terse nod.

With all the lanterns, it was almost as bright outside as it was in the tavern, so they spotted Tylendel easily, and it was so worth coaxing Vanyel into this to see the utterly flabbergasted look on Tylendel’s face. He was watching the door, and recognized Micah immediately of course, but it took him two seconds of blank staring to realize who _had_ to be on his arm as they approached the table he’d been saving. 

" _Vanyel_?" 

"One and the same," Micah said proudly. "Polishes up nicely, doesn't he?"

The blush that lit up Vanyel's face was priceless. "You—do you—like it?"

Tylendel seemed to be groping for words. "Ashke," he said after a few heartstopping seconds. 

Vanyel brightened, seeing his approval. Tylendel held out his hand, and Vanyel took it, and they all sat. 

“I see you already ordered for us,” Micah noted with amusement. “But it’s bad form, eating before the ladies arrive.”

“If I’d waited for the ladies, they would have found me perished of hunger,” Tylendel said, raising an eyebrow and spreading jam on a sausage roll.

“Tcha, exaggeration and hyperbole, on both counts,” Micah scoffed, taking up the bottle of wine and pouring for both himself and Vanyel. “Although at least you had the sense to order wine, and not that smelly ale you Frelennyes are so fond of, so I can forgive you.”

At Vanyel’s quizzical look, Tylendel explained, “My father was brewer of some note. Staven means to carry on the family tradition, although he’s not near the brewer our father was. Yet,” he added, with an arch glance at Micah.

“How can you tell the difference between good ale and bad ale? It all tastes the same.”

“That’s because you have an uncultured palate,” Tylendel said.

“That’s because I see no point in cultivating a taste for horse piss,” Micah retorted.

“Well, I don’t doubt if you _could_ taste the difference between ale and horse piss—which you apparently can’t, more’s the pity—you would be an ale connoisseur. A Champion of ale, even.”

Vanyel was watching their proceedings with amusement, Micah noted. It was an old argument between them, one that had no real heat in it, just harmless bickering between friends, but it excluded Vanyel.

Micah waved his hand at Tylendel. “Ale has already found its champion, assuredly. And _why_ am I bickering over inconsequentialities with you when I _finally_ have someone here who can catch me up on all the Court gossip? _Please_ tell me the Cavish sisters haven’t done us all an incredible disservice and ended their little feud,” he said, turning his attention to Vanyel. “They were _so_ entertaining.”

***

Tylendel wasn’t _quite_ sneaking back into the Herald’s Wing; not much point in trying since the people staying there had plenty of other ways besides plain sight and sound to sense him with, but it was definitely past the time trainees should have been in bed and accounted for, and he was very much hoping Savil was stuck in another Council meeting. He didn’t mean to stay out so late—candlemarks past Savil’s curfew—but it had been so long since he’d last been to the city, and it was easy to lose track of time…the last thing he wanted to do was give Savil a reason to think Vanyel was a bad influence on him. Once at the door to the suite, he unshielded, just the tiniest bit—Mardic and Donni were asleep, and Savil was blessedly absent. He felt the tiniest bit guilty, but mostly he was just as glad Savil didn’t have a reason to take away his city privileges. 

Back in the safety of their room, Tylendel undressed and draped himself in his robe, settled into his favorite armchair, and waited for Vanyel to get home. It couldn’t be soon enough. Running into Micah had been purest chance, and he thanked whatever god had seen fit to cause Micah to want to take Vanyel under his wing; Micah didn’t always like his other lovers, and truthfully, looking back, the ones he had taken an “irrational” dislike to had all been bastards anyway, so the fact that Micah liked Vanyel was a doubly a relief. But the man was an _insufferable_ tease. His own fault, really, for bedding Micah and then staying friends with him. 

Micah knew how much he loved the sight of a man dressed as a woman, loved knowing exactly what was hidden beneath skirts and cosmetics…and he would have been perfectly content to never bring the subject up with Vanyel. It wasn’t a _need_ , after all. He loved the way Vanyel looked in his everyday clothes, and in any case, he wouldn’t have had the first clue how to even broach the subject, much less convince Vanyel to actually _do_ it. Tylendel would have bet money that _no one_ could have convinced him to do it, not even Micah and his persuasive charm.

Tylendel heard a faint rapping on the garden door. He got up and unlatched it, and Vanyel slipped inside, smelling of strong spirits and cheap perfume.

“What is all this?” he sniffed, amused.

“Micah’s idea,” Vanyel replied, peeling off the offending outer layers of his outfit and stuffing them deep in the laundry hamper. “You should have seen me at all the guard checkpoints,” Vanyel said, pouring fresh water in the washbasin. “I was singing “The Tavernkeeper’s Daughter” and winking at them during the juicy parts while they looked for my name on the checklist.” 

Tylendel chuckled, admiring his lover’s backside. “I don’t doubt. And now there’s one more layer in that “Debauched Peacock” reputation of yours.”

“Hmmm,” Vanyel hummed, as he washed away the last remnant of the perfume and liquor Micah had apparently doused him with. As he straightened and dried his face and neck, Tylendel came up behind him and pulled Vanyel flush against his chest and began kissing his neck; he could feel Vanyel’s pulse quicken beneath his lips. “I think maybe I should give you a good reason to have that reputation.” One hand held Vanyel’s chest, the other drifted lower and stopped just short of his groin, pulling him even closer. 

“Making an honest man of me?” Vanyel breathed, laying his head back against Tylendel’s shoulder to give him better access. 

“Mmmmm,” was all Tylendel replied, mouth and tongue otherwise occupied. Vanyel’s breathing turned into breathy little moans and he turned his head, wanting Tylendel to kiss his lips. Tylendel obliged, his hand snaking underneath the loose undershirt to play with his nipples.

Vanyel broke the kiss when Tylendel pulled his cock out of his breeches and jerked him, slowly. He whimpered, _Please, gods, I want you_. Tylendel let himself play for a moment longer; it was so damn satisfying stripping down Vanyel’s carefully assembled layers of dignity and pride, until he was just another young man discovering the sheer joy of sex. Vanyel reached behind them and clutched Tylendel’s hip, another desperate _please_ escaping his lips. Tylendel relented and pulled Vanyel’s shirt off, and pushed his breeches and smallclothes down his hips. Van stepped out of them and at Tylendel’s urging, lay down on the bed. Tylendel took another moment to admire the sight, prolonging the anticipation, before following Vanyel into bed. He knelt beside Van, running his hand over his ass, up his back, and gently grabbing a handful of hair. He placed a series of chaste kisses across Van’s shoulders, before biting him at the juncture of neck and shoulder; just hard enough to let Van know he _could_ hurt, if he chose. _If Vanyel wanted_. Vanyel responded with a deep moan, and writhed against the mattress.

“You like that?” Tylendel whispered against his skin. “You want more?”

_Always_

He bit down in the same place, gradually increasing the pressure. Vanyel was white knuckled gripping the sheets, a long and drawn out _ohhh_ stuttering out of him. Tylendel stopped just short of breaking skin, and soothed the mark with his tongue. 

_Please,_ he heard. _Please, just_

“Just what?” he asked, nibbling along the back of Vanyel’s neck. 

_I need_

“What?” he asked, his hand trailing down Vanyel’s spine. Tylendel slid a finger along his crack, asking, “Is this what you need?”

A broken _Yes. Please._ Reaching into the nightstand, he pulled out the jar of salve he’d only recently had cause to begin using. And wasn’t _that_ a lovely surprise? Penetration was something he’d thought he’d have to coax Vanyel into, but there were certainly benefits to being a minor Empath, one of which being remarkably accurate intuition, because nine throws out of ten it was based on readings he was getting, without even consciously _trying_ to get a read on someone. It was certainly helpful in dealing with Vanyel, when a lot of times Van couldn’t verbalize what he was feeling, even when he _knew_ what he was feeling. 

Fingers slick and ready, Tylendel once more traced Vanyel’s crack, unable to resist more teasing. Earlier at the Maiden, he’d fantasized about taking Vanyel quickly, but as the evening progressed, his lust was tempered, and now he wanted to draw the night’s pleasure out as long as he could. 

He slid one fingertip inside, testing. Van was still new; he still needed to be careful. The rings of muscle clenched and released, the action not unlike a mouth sucking. The rest of the finger followed, the knuckle easing in, and he patiently stroked it in and out until the second one slid in with little resistance. Vanyel gasped at the introduction, and rubbed against the mattress, seeking friction, something, _anything_ more than the deliciously slow torment Tylendel was putting him through. 

“None of that,” Tylendel said. “I want this to last. Up, on your knees.” Vanyel obeyed, his hips moving in a gentle rhythm as he rocked back on Tylendel’s fingers. Tylendel permitted it for a few minutes, feeling the slow smolder of lust in his belly inflaming at the sight of Vanyel’s wantonness. Finally his patience reached its end, and he withdrew his fingers to Vanyel’s mixed dismay and excitement, and stripped off his clothes. Rubbing salve on his neglected cock, he took a few breaths to steady himself, not wanting this to come to a premature end. Then, to Vanyel’s evident surprise, Tylendel lay down on his back next to him. “Take your pleasure, ashke,” he said hoarsely.

Running a hand over Tylendel’s chest, Vanyel straddled him, looking down at him with awe, and Tylendel laid his hands on Vanyel’s hips and guided him down. As the head of his cock pushed in, Vanyel bit his lip, a look of extreme concentration on his face. The sensation of his cock being almost _pulled_ inside Vanyel’s body was incredible; the rhythm of clench and release might have been enough to give him satisfaction, if he was minded to let it. With great effort, Tylendel resisted the urge to rock his hips up, fully intending to let Vanyel take his own satisfaction.

For the moment all he seemed to want to do was sit there; he was leaning back slightly, with occasional very faint tremors shuddering down his body. When he lifted his hips and slowly set down again, he leaned forward a bit, and braced his arms on Tylendel’s chest. He kept the pace slow, and alternated with slow rolls of his hips. Tylendel could only stare at him helplessly, and touch Vanyel everywhere he could reach. How he had managed to lure Vanyel to him, he would never know, but he would thank every god he knew of every day for setting Vanyel in his path.

Tylendel couldn’t resist kissing those lips anymore; propping himself up on an elbow, he put his other hand behind Vanyel’s head and pulled him down. Vanyel lowered himself down to hid elbows, deepening the kiss. Tylendel rolled them both over, settling himself between Vanyel’s legs, kissing him a moment longer before resuming the same slow, gentle rhythm Van had set. Vanyel’s fingers dug into his back as he gasped and moaned. Everything had been narrowed down to _them_ ; Vanyel saying his name over and over, exulting in the pleasure he was giving and begging for his _own_ satisfaction. Finally Tylendel reached between them, taking Vanyel’s half hard cock in his hand, alternately rubbing the head between his fingers and squeezing the shaft. Seconds later he was coming, body rigid as his seed spilled over onto Tylendel’s hand, and Tylendel finally let go of the tight control he held over his body, letting his own orgasm take over his body and carry his mind away, for the moment.

With an effort Tylendel resisted the urge to collapse on top of Vanyel. After a few seconds, he managed to get up and go to the washbasin, returning with a damp cloth. Sated, clean, and exhausted, he crawled back in the bed, curling up next to Van.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for [typhe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/typhe/pseuds/typhe), who reminded me of a totally offhanded comment I once made about Vanyel dressing in drag, and asked me to actually write it. Trying to come up with a plausible, hopefully in-character way to get him to do it was challenging, to say the least (hence the new prequel to this series). So. Yeah.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Measure Of A Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333894) by [typhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/typhe/pseuds/typhe)




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